


Lay Down Your Burdens

by Astrageneia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Short One Shot, almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 00:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13178925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrageneia/pseuds/Astrageneia
Summary: Peggy goes looking for Steve after Bucky falls from the train. She finds herself thinking about loss, life, and what this man means to her.





	Lay Down Your Burdens

It was cold. The streets were dark and empty. Sometimes she had to remind herself that this wasn’t the way things had always been, that the streets of London used to be full of light and life, and she would live to see them that way again. The “or die trying” part of that phrase was quickly dismissed from her thoughts. No time for that.

Peggy shoved her hands in her pockets and walked a little faster. The Howling Commandos had toasted their fallen companion long into the night, and somehow none of them had noticed when Captain Rogers had quietly slipped away. Having been late to the gathering due to a mission of her own, she didn’t know how long Steve had been away or where he had gone, but she had to find him. No one should be alone in a moment like this. Grief and pain were funny things, but it didn’t come as too much of a surprise that Steve would hide his.

She’d entered this war after her brother’s death, and the list of losses that followed that name was not small. Every single one of those, they hurt, still. Barnes’s death would weigh heavily, too, though it had not quite become real for her yet. She welcomed that hurt, for if a day came when it did not, there was no returning from that. Her chest tightened as she approached Steve’s next possible place of retreat. A few days before, this place had been full of laughter and joy. Since the beginning, it had been a regular haunt of the Commandos. Now it was a hollowed out shell. She still didn’t know if anyone had been inside when the bombs had fallen in this neighborhood. But a building was a little thing, in the grand scheme of things. 

She paused outside, listening. She heard the muffled clunk of glass on wood, and changed her angle slightly to confirm who was inside.

The man who sat in the ruins of this place, the one whose pain was clear in every line of his body, was also no stranger to death. The father, gone before he had been born. The mother, lost to the sicknesses she had fought so hard to heal. The childhood friends, gone, some to the misfortunes of life, some to the war before and after he had joined. On top of that, she’d gleaned the heartbreaks, the loneliness, the rejections, the litany of pain that had marked his life. Yet, perhaps because rather than in spite of all of this, he’d still come out of it a good man.

When Dr. Erskine had handed her Steve’s file, she had leafed through it, surprised that the man had even made it out of infancy. She’d expected, as they all did, for him to wash out immediately. But he’d survived, seemingly by sheer force of will. Thrived, by virtue of that same will, becoming even more than the project had dared hope. God knows, they had all needed some hope. She’d never expected to find it in a scrawny, sickly man from Brooklyn. He had been special even before the procedure. The good Captain radiated hope, and he was needed for that as much as his powers as a soldier. 

Hope. There was an interesting word. It was hard for her to admit how close she had come to losing hers. When her brother had died, she’d joined the S.O.E. looking for a fight, for revenge, for a distraction. She’d found all of that, and she kept going. Kept fighting. Never once looked back to truly mourn her brother, the loss of her fiance, the life she might have had. The first year had been rough, but she’d had friends, mentors to help her through, though with some of them, she’d had to turn around and use what she’d learn to mourn their deaths, too. She’d learned to survive. Often, she found herself wishing she could have shared some of these lessons with her mother, who had completely withdrawn after Michael’s death, and who still couldn’t accept her daughter’s chosen profession. But one couldn’t save others, one could only extend a hand. She’d learned that the hard way. Difficult to say what Steve would need. Or accept.

She couldn’t know, truly, what Barnes had meant to him, just as he could never know what her brother had meant to her. But she knew the way Steve lit up when reunited with his friend, how happy Bucky had made him. And for that, in some way, she had also loved their fallen friend.

Steve mechanically poured himself another glass and tossed it back. Perhaps the world had finally found his breaking point. There was only one way to find out. She stepped into what was left of the pub, making as much noise as possible. On hearing her footfall, he looked up, vainly trying to make it look as if he hadn’t been crying. His attempt at putting on a brave face did not last long when he saw that it was her.

“Dr. Erskine said that the serum wouldn't just effect my muscles, it would effect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means, um, I can't get drunk. Did you know that?”

She knew. Somehow, knowing the exact technical specifications didn’t diminish the reality of the man at all. She took off her gloves and pulled up a chair, stalling for time. “Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects.” She paused, the pain of this loss and many others reaching up and clawing at her throat. “It wasn't your fault.”

“Did you read the report?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know that's not true.”

“You did everything you could.” She had never believed it when people had said that to her, she didn’t expect him to, either. It was, however, the thing one said in these situations. She still hated herself for saying it. “Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him? Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”

There it was. In his eyes for that half second, clear as anything. He didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe that he was worth the adoration of his men, the respect and gratitude of nations, the loyalty of his friends, the love of …anyone. She knew that look, intimately. Her own heart fell through the floor, and she scrambled to keep her face neutral.

“I’m going after Schmidt. I'm not gonna stop ’til all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

“You won't be alone.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, before nodding and starting to stand. She grabbed his hand. “But there’s nothing to be done yet tonight. I haven’t yet had a chance to drink to Sergeant Barnes’s memory. Will you join me?”

He stared at her hand for a heartbeat, before sitting back down and removing his, fumbling in his pockets for something. “Your hands are cold.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I’m sorry, I only brought the one glass,” he said, wiping said glass with his coat sleeve before pouring a far too generous shot for her.

“You weren’t expecting company.” She held up her glass, waiting for him to make the toast.

“To Bucky.”

She wanted so badly to ease his pain, even for a moment. To offer herself as a refuge to this man who had become her lighthouse, not a rescue, but a guide out of the dark. 

But now was not the time. 

“To Bucky,” she repeated, tossing back the entire glass.


End file.
